Bubbly

I don't know why it is, but most things associated with bubbles are kind of trashy. This is something I just realized as I was reading a draft of a post I had crafted about hot tubs. There's so much in this world that's "bubbly" and that I consider trashy as well. See the following.



1. Champagne. I really don't think there is a classy incident, save weddings and some celebrations where champagne can be considered classy. I associate champagne with headaches, constant burping and a freewheeling, loopy drunk that makes me want to make out with everyone and chain-smoke while swigging out of the bottle and burping with gusto.



2. Bubble baths. Just gross, guys. I don't know. Some find bubble baths to be relaxing moments, taking time out of the stressful everyday to relax in a peaceful oasis of softly sented bubbles and candles and whatever. Fuck that. Bubble baths remind me of vaseline-smeared photos of women with frosted lipstick and bad eyeshadow batting lashes at the camera. Has anyone ever really enjoyed a bubble bath? They are good for about 2 minutes and then the water gets lukewarm and you realize you're sitting in a tepid pool of dead skin. Then you get pruney and the bubbles fade. You're left with nothing but shame.



3. Hot tubs. This is where the line is fuzzy, because hot tubs are awesome in a sleazy 70's-Marin-key-party-swinger kind of way. I love a good hot tub, maybe under the stars with someone fun to make out with and a nice joint. That's good right there. That's living. Hot tubs reveal their trashy underbelly when they are located at motels. I once spent an awkward 15 minutes in a hot tub at a Holiday Inn Express in Ukiah, located right off the freeway. There was a girl who made small talk with us while chain-smoking Kools. After she left, we stared at the space over each other's heads for about 5 more minutes, then walked silently back to our room, silently acknowledging the trashiness that had just occurred.

The beauty in the trashiness inherent in bubbly things is their irrefutable power when employed simultaneously. Separately, these things are mildly trashy, but together they form a Triumvirate of Trash. If you're sitting in a hot tub drinking champagne out of the bottle whilst Calgon takes you away, we might as well bag your ass up and put you on the curb for the garbage man because you are officially TRASH.

My lip gloss is cool.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

One for the road.

It's Sunday. You probably haven't taken a shower and it's around 12:30. You woke up about an hour ago with a dull headache from beer and shrimp with the girls and you want to put a modicum of effort into the rest of your day. Something has to give. You can't spend the rest of the day in your house wearing a man's baseball tee from the Gap and yoga pants. Maybe you don't feel like wearing pants but something about your bare ass clad only in I-need-to-do-laundry underwear with Snoopy surfing on your crotch makes you feel uncomfortable. Trashy, even. You are desperate for an in-between, something that replicates the sheer joy of being pantsless and unfettered yet offers the protection provided by something, anything, covering your ass and your ladyflower. This is where these come in.



Fuck. YES. Cut-offs. So stupendously trashy yet the perfect thing to remedy the situation you've found yourself in. Put these fuckers on and you are ready to face the world, even if the only world you'll be facing is yuppies and their kids in Baby Bjorns looking embarassed for you as you nip over to the corner store to buy Kettle Chips and some strawberry lemonade.

It's like being naked outside but better.